Last Man Standing
by Kesa Ange
Summary: What did Chrono do after the manga ended? What could he do? He didn't see any light left in his future, and sometimes, he didn't even try to. Spoilers for manga ending. Rewrite of "The One Left Behind". Please enjoy!
1. Introduction

When two people have been your world, shown you the universe you never knew existed, and opened up a brand new way of life to you, you never want to let them go. When you force yourself to watch them dying, moment by moment weaker, forcing themselves to smile for you, you make yourself smile back. When you hold their lifeless bodies in your hands, you can't possibly force yourself to look. You can't help but look away.

Because it's your fault. You knew it was your fault, they knew it was your fault, and all this while you've both been pretending that you don't mind, that it's worth it, that there'll be a way out, that it doesn't have to happen the way it must happen.

And when you make the same mistake _again_, you have to appreciate every moment of her fleeting life.

Mine is the story of two people who are no longer with us. And the demon who killed them.

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A/N: This is the rewritten version of my three-year-old story "The One Left Behind", which is still around here somewhere. If you read the first version, I'd love to hear what you think of this one!


	2. Prologue

Rosette… I came back for you. It took me so long, and I'm sorry. You didn't die alone. At least I was there for you. I was always there for you. I still am. I know you'd hate that I am, but I would hate it if I wasn't. I can't let myself get past the end of the world.

You and Magdalene… I swear I will never let you two die. This is the only way – the only reason – that I live on. Never forgetting you.

Rosette – Satella came back. She and Fiole – no, Florette – and Sheda, they've come back. I've seen them. So they will help me remember you, and you will stay with us.

But Magdalene… I'm scared that if I die, like I know I will, that you really would be dead to this world. And you don't deserve that. You deserve for your name to be carved in history, not in the way that it already is, but in the way that's true to my memories. They shouldn't forget Mary Magdalene, one of the two women who saved the world, saved the world so many times

And that's why I live on. You made it to twenty-four, Rosette, waiting for me. I'm… I don't know how old I am now, but it's been seventy-eight years since I last saw you. Seventy-eight years without anyone. But my life goes on. I refuse to be connected to anyone else any more. I don't think you'd like that, but I make my choices. No, I don't think, I know that you would detest what I'm doing to myself.

So many times over the last seventy years I've imagined you coming out of the darkness. Hitting me on the head and telling me to stop moping, to remember that there are people who care about me, to keep moving with life.

It's the opposite, you and me, I think. You rushed through life and when I was beside you I rushed too. But now I don't think I'm even walking, and I hope to God you can't see me now.

If you _could_ see me now – I wouldn't meet your eyes. I'm living a life I'm ashamed of, and you too, Magdalene. You might understand better than Rosette would, but you would understand, too, how important it is for me to move on.

But I don't want to face the two of you, not the way you are now. To me, you're still the smiling, faithful woman who held the Sinners together, in a time we thought would last forever, and the Rosette who dragged me along in her wake, and the Rosette that I danced with, that time at the festival when we stepped on each other's feet...

Life's a struggle. I'm like I was when we first met – hornless, hopeless, and empty. And I hate myself for thinking the way I am right now. I'm trapped in a deep, dark pit, and I can't get out of without you.


	3. Chapter 1

A/N: What's the best way to avoid answering Chemistry questions? Edit and post a new chapter of a story. Huzzah.

Ivy wove to and fro across the tombstone, forming a strong framework over the crumbling rock. Underneath the vines, the stone was almost falling apart. Not because it was old, the gravedigger was sure, because it had only been set up seventy or so years ago, only a breath ago compared to the antique stones littered across the cemetery's western side. Maybe the land was wet underneath, he thought, rocking back on his heels to brush his hands against the dry, almost sandy dirt at his feet. Maybe not.

Maybe it was cursed, he wondered, but then he shook his head, banishing such odd thoughts from his mind. Maybe the grave was angry with him, or furious with the way he was wasting his life – which would be odd – then again, everything seemed to be about him these days –

Good lord, he was intent on self pity today. Shaking his head again, and hitting himself lightly, he tried to focus through the fuzziness in his vision. His body was starting to give out, he knew, but he was intent on at least cleaning up this grave before he headed back to his shack, centred in the middle of the cemetery.

With a delicate hand he slowly snipped the larger leaves away - too nervous to remove the vines of ivy entirely in case the entire stone fell apart and he had to go into town and get a new one - and brushed them back so that faint carvings were revealed. Oh, and the last flower had died. Tucking the limp rose into one of the pockets of his thick coat, he made a mental note to order one in with the next batch of groceries.

His hand itched and he moved to scratch it before remembering that it was not the left one, not the real one. It was a deep itch, in the hand he didn't have anymore. Chrono sat back and sighed. The sky was cloudy, almost black. It would rain soon. He'd better finish up and head home.

_Look at yourself, Chrono. You're cleaning graves. Life's left you behind. What would she think? What would either of them think?__ What would anyone think?_

_You can keep their memory safe in other ways, better ways, but instead you're cleaning graves and after you've finished you're going to go and shiver in a wooden shack while you get soaked. You know it's not home. You can't go back home, and it's because you-_

Chrono slapped himself across the face. That wasn't the sort of person he was. It wasn't him. They had taught him better than that. He didn't care what he did, and he wouldn't let himself angst over it. He just lived. That was his job. To keep on living. She was depending on him. They both were depending on him.

He didn't want to think about it, but when he did, he would start listing in his head everyone who depended on him.

_She was depending on him. So was she. And Remington, and that man – the old man from the church, the one who had trusted him – what was his name again? And Sister Kate, and __little – well, old - Azmaria, and even Joshua, who had been working so hard to make up for what he had done, and some of what Chrono himself had done – maybe all of which he was to blame for - and so many people, all through the years, and he could go back further and further, and all the people who he had lived past just would not stop passing before his mind's eye – _

He dug the heel of his hand into his eye and tried to stop his memory running away from him. _Florette_, _Fiole – _he focused on living faces– _she's still around._ _Though I never really knew her at all, but she seemed to be nice_, _well, not to us, but Satella loved her in the past and Sheda seems to now_ _and Satella, don't forget she's alive, Satella got to live without everyone else, Satella managed to avoid them as well as I did, though that was unintentional and I don't think she's happy about that, and from the older, older days, there is still Sheda, because there's no way Sheda would let herself go and die, she was always so cheerful, held us together before _she_ came along..._

Chrono could not get away from the past, and sometimes he had to acknowledge that that was because he didn't want to. There was only one way he could pay his debts, he knew, and that was by not forgetting them.

There was still only one way he could allow himself to live like this, or he would have given up even putting in the slightest effort into doing anything but moping around the house. And that was imagining them.

In his mind they were friends, and they understood each other and him. They were walking over to him now, Rosette talking ridiculously loudly while Mary smiled gently and nodded. They had seen him now, and they came over and helped him to stand up on his shaking legs. Rosette was admonishing him for getting caught in the rain while Magdalene just smiled and shook her head. They tried to start a conversation with him, but Chrono would only smile and nod as they walked back to the shack.

He would hide himself in a world of his memories, ignore the real world and imagine the two people most important to him conversing with him as if they had forgiven him for everything he had done, but he would not talk to them. He never talked to these figures from his imagination no matter how many times they cajoled him. He would imagine he was with friends, but he would not talk, not ever.

If Rosette and Magdalene could see him now, they wouldn't be happy. But if they saw him talking to himself and pretending he was talking to fake images of them, they would be...

But he needed them. Imagining Rosette and Magdalene held him together. He didn't think that he could continue without at least phantom companions, and there was no way he could ever turn up on the front door of Florette's and Sheda's house – if he managed to find out where they were living this time – and say "Hello. I'm still alive. I'm wasting my life. How are you?" and he couldn't meet Satella again. He thought Satella might have an inkling of the idea that he was still alive – on her first visit to Rosette's grave she had seen his flowers. But to meet Satella, and see the accusations in her eyes...Chrono had always been afraid of accusations, of someday someone turning up and saying "Your name is Chrono and you have killed so many people who trusted you, and I _know_ exactly what it is that you have done."

He could not accept anything he had done in his past, or at least, very little, not to the point of accepting it and forgiving himself. He accused himself of things all the time. But if anyone else had accused Chrono of what he had done, if anyone had known and blamed him for it, he would have run and run and run, trying to escape the lingering shadow of himself.

He had reached the shack now, and Rosette and Magdalene smiled at him before they turned, arm in arm, and evaporated. The shack was small and leaking, and rather than stay inside and watch his few possessions slowly wash away in the heavy rain, he sat outside, leaning against a tree, and slept, ignoring the aches in his old joints.


	4. Chapter 2

A/N: I have a lot of important homework to do. So what's the obvious solution? Work on a fanfiction!

I hope you like the way this story is going ^-^ This is where it really starts to get into its stride.

Thanks for reading - Kesa.

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The door of the decrepit cabin shrieked as Chrono slowly forced it open, sticking into the damp floor as it did every time it rained. The wooden floor squeaked as he stumbled across the room, and he flinched as the rising smell from the mould and mildew hit him.

Slowly he scraped his way towards the pantry, desperately trying to avoid the wave of self-disgust and self-hatred that he was flooded with every time he entered his – abruptly, he halted mid-thought. He refused to use the word 'house' to refer to the dilapidated hovel. House and home were where the heart was, and – he recalled the quote with a slight shudder – home was where your loved ones were. Another quote returned to him, a line that he himself had spoken, years and years ago before his world had shattered for the second time. _The place where Chrono would can go back to was already decided four years ago...and that place is… wherever _–

Chrono was frequently shocked by the strength of his intent to hurt himself whenever possible. He had always known he had a large potential for self-hatred; half the events of his life were driven by his own desperation to escape himself. He had killed a hundred demon generals for the Sinners because he hated what he and the Sinners had done to Pandemonium's children; he had stayed with the Sinners because he hated what he had done for them; he had locked himself in Magdalene's tomb because he hated what he had done to Magdalene.

But those were not the kinds of memories he was trying to preserve, more the kind that he was trying to forget. The pantry opened with a creak and, peering into the darkness, he fished out a pale loaf of bread and a dry block of cheese. He really was trying to punish himself, he had to admit, but he suppressed the anger rising up and cut himself a meal.

Nibbling on his breakfast, Chrono headed back outside, considering the tasks he had for the day. It was also worth noting, he thought, that though he had a huge potential for self hatred he was also not half bad at suppressing it. Of course it would always return at awkward times, but he could continually postpone it-well, until it reached a certain point, and then he was forced to crouch into the corner of the shack, covering his ears and eyes, trying to block himself and shield himself from the ever-encroaching world and the whispers of the long deceased. He'd whisper apologies and shiver until the tremors wore off and he could force himself to look at the world again.

There were several new graves that needed to be dug and, finishing the small sandwich, he scooped up the shovel and tried to remember where the new plots were. It was difficult to dig with only one arm but compared to the more complicated skills he had learned over the decades – like delaying his self-loathing – digging one-handed was simple, and the small amount of difficulty it did offer was enough to distract him without being too much of a strain.

The soil was more like mud than dirt and he frowned as flecks flicked over his face, trying to wipe his face clean with a ragged sleeve. It slopped over his feet and with a shake of his head Rosette started to laugh at the hopeless expression on his face and Magdalene looked on with her faint smile.

"Look at you! Anyone'd think we didn't take good care of you!" Rosette chastised as he smiled and continued to shovel dirt out of the grave.

"Would you like help?" Magdalene offered, ignoring the way that he was flicking mud onto her delicate shoes, but Chrono just shook his head.

"Aw, no, Mary, he wouldn't want ya getting your pretty dress all dirty like he is! Move over, Chrono, and I'll show you how to get this done."

Again he shook his head, smiling as Rosette grumbled and feebly tried to nudge him out of the way before giving up and lying down in the mud. Slowly she wriggled herself into the ground and began to sing, that hymn that she and Joshua used to sing together. Gently Magdalene settled herself into the soil next to Rosette and began to harmonize, her higher and purer voice weaving around Rosette's stronger voice.

Casting aside the unsettling shiver that ran through him at the sounds he remembered from an eternity ago, he continued to dig, burying himself into his work. By the time he had completed the grave and had managed to clamber out of the pit he found himself humming along to the tune they were singing and abruptly stopped himself. To him, even humming was too close to actively interacting with his imagination.

Chrono's hand was slippery with mud and dirt and the shovel slipped through his fingers to land heavily on his foot. He doubled over with suprise and pain and Rosette and Magdalene rushed across to see what had happened. When he looked up to see their concerned faces he was forced to double over again, as – again – the wave of self-hatred was let loose to flood through him. The real Rosette would never have looked so concerned at the idea of Chrono giving himself a minor injury.

It just made it more obvious that they weren't his real friends. They were his imagination, his own interpretations of people that he had once, briefly, known. It wasn't Rosette, looking at him worriedly, and it wasn't Magdalene muttering reassurances as she examined his foot.

Why? Because Rosette and Magdalene were well and truly dead. Deader than dead, dead for decades and decades, very, very dead indeed. And the two women smiling at him now were lies.

He made it, faltering and stumbling, to the shack, before he curled up into a corner and tried to hide away from the world.

Chrono could never drag himself out of himself in situations like these. He needed someone like Magdalene or Rosette to set him back on his feet, point him in the direction he needed to go, and scold him for what he had done. He needed someone, someone real, to save him.

But he was fully aware that no-one could save him, any more. That Rosette and that Magdalene were gone, and the ones who had been singing only minutes ago were just his mind's attempt to try and keep him sane.

This time Chrono couldn't trust someone else to bring him out of this eighty year old mindset. He had to stand himself up, pull himself together, and turn his life into a life. Because otherwise, when he died, hoping that he'd be going to the same place that they had gone – which was highly unlikely – he'd never be able to even look at them again, drowning in the shame that he had learned nothing from the people who tried to teach him everything about the world.

In other words, Chrono had to save himself. Which had, he noted drily, never been his strong point. He had always been more on the side of saving everyone else, through the sacrifice of himself. But this time, to save his memories of people long dead, he had to pull himself out of himself and try to live the rest of his life in a way that, when he saw Rosette and Magdalene again, he could hold his head high and honestly thank them for teaching him how to live.


	5. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hey, __Miyako1Lee3Rulez__, if you're reading this, I addressed the comments from your last review at the bottom of this chapter!_

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_The corner of the shack was not the most comfortable place to sleep but if nothing else it did not result in springs making awkward noises all night and waking up the next morning having sunk several inches into the mildewy mattress. And after all, it was not as though he was unaccustomed to sleeping in the corner. When he woke up the next morning his back ached a little from the stiffness of the walls but at least he could say that his posture was more than a little improved.

Obviously, he decided, the first thing to do would be to stop giving himself excuses to pity himself. Though he ignored it under the banner of 'punishing himself' his job was really paid quite well (no-one else would ever be convinced to work in the cemetery; they thought it was haunted and they were more-or-less right, really, which he found amusing), and his expenses were really quite minimal (the only time he ever bought anything that wasn't basic groceries was when he bought flowers, and that was rare enough to be considered a special expense). Even the groceries were unnecessary, to be honest, but over the years he had gotten very used to eating and at the moment it was one of the few things that made life worth living. Occasionally he would even treat himself, try mixing up something new, or something from the old days, and sometimes he would cook with Rosette and Magd-

They were here now, peering through the windows, Mary whispering to Rosette behind one hand and Rosette almost shouting back at her. Yes, during the night and the day before he had decided to get rid of them, but surely one more day couldn't hurt?

Surely?

He opened the door and let them in wordlessly, and Rosette immediately began loudly commenting on the state of the house, just as he had known she would, and Mary staying silent but looking concerned behind her.

So there. It had been decided for him. The first thing to address would be his shack. He'd make it a house. If he was living somewhere clean and warm and friendly he'd have less opportunities for self-pity. Though he wasn't sure where to start…

Magdelene suggested that he start with the bed, because a good night's sleep led to a happier outlook on life. Rosette just warned him not to put it too near the window. Useful input as always. So to begin he ripped the musty smelling blankets off the bed and looped them over tree branches outside in the fresh air. He considered them carefully – replace them entirely, or just clean them off and hope for the best?

Magdalene laughed. "How like you, Chrono, to make a decision like that. Nothing is beyond repairing! Look." She took the sheets in her hands and held them out. "No holes, no tears; just clean them properly. You do know how to clean sheets, don't you?"

He didn't reply. Of course he did.

"Well there. Quite simple."

"Chrono! Look at this mattress!" Rosette called him from inside and he put his head back into the shack to see her leaping on the bed, bedsprings almost screaming under her feet. "I think this one's a goner!"

He looked back at Mary to seek her advice, and she put one hand over her mouth lightly as she considered. "Sadly, I agree with Rosette. It's past its use-by date. Ah! Why don't you put it out for children to play on?" Chrono just angled her a look and she laughed. "A little inappropriate, I suppose. But Chrono, honestly. There has to be some form of joy in death or what is the point of living?"

It suited Magdalene, in his mind, to appear wise and thoughtful. It had been too long, far too long since he had last spoken to her, and it was almost as though he was forgetting how she had been, and twisting her into how he thought she _should _be.

He had been right. He really did need to be by himself. But just for now…no harm, right?

With Magdalene's encouragement he managed to tug the mattress off the bedframe and lug it into the storage room beneath the house. Thankfully it was a quiet day at the cemetery today which spared him many awkward looks. Then he found his phone (which he used very rarely and was hidden away somewhere) to call and arrange the delivery of a new mattress which would fit his bed. Surveying the shack, he decided that the next step would be just general cleaning. Perhaps some organisation would be thrown in too, but really, his primary concern was all the rubbish that had piled up (after all, he was a hoarder, and he'd been here a damn long time). With Rosette and Magdalene providing suggestions on what was worth keeping (very little) and what was worth throwing out (almost everything) he managed to demolish the mounds of trash. He piled the garbage bags in one corner of the shack until there were too many to fit and they were spilling into the rest of the room, and then slowly dragged each one outside to pile them underneath another short tree. When he was finished Rosette slapped him on the back.

"Chrono! Look! It's the floor!"

"You know, I always liked houses with visible floors," Magdalene sighed, holding her skirt out delicately as she sat down and then settling it around her legs. "This is quite a nice floor, too. I think it should stay like this."

It was much nicer, he had to admit, looking around. He could see the floor; once there was a new mattress the bed would be comfortable; and perhaps he could put a chair in the corner where he always ended up sleeping, both to discourage himself from continuing to sleep there and to provide slightly more comfort when he inevitably slept there.

So what was next in the process of cleaning up his life? Of course, cleaning the sheets. He took the spade from the shed behind the house – that's what it was, it was a house now, a house that someone could _live_ in, not exist in – and hit the sheets with the long wooden end, almost losing his balance with each whack.

_This_ hit was for his self-pity, sending out a thick cloud of dust which blew away in the wind, blew away from his life, from his house, from his world. _This _one was for his past life of moping and being miserable, and _this _was for his own refusal to live. Finally the force of his hits were too much and he fell backwards onto the ground, landing on his back in the grass and dirt, and had to laugh as he lay there and watched the dust drift into the clear sky.

He was _laughing._ Chrono was _laughing_, lying flat on his back, staring at the sky, being showered with dust, _laughing_. He hadn't laughed so much in a long, long time, and now he couldn't stop, his voice hoarse from disuse, about to turn into a hacking cough at any moment, eyes crinkling, mouth smiling, laughing up at the sky as Rosette and Mary threw themselves down around him so that their heads formed a circle.

He actually felt lighter, physically lighter, as though he could float away. But he couldn't float away, not quite yet. He relaxed into the ground and held his hands up to the sky once he could start breathing again, grasping out as if to hold the scraps of clouds in his hands. Slowly, turning their faces to mutter quietly to one another, Rosette and Magdalene stretched their hands up too, and Chrono laughed quietly one more time before he stood up.

He had to do it. He'd arranged everything else; his shack was a _home_, he had been laughing…perhaps he should wait, contact Sheda (she _had_ to be still around) or Satella (no, he couldn't. He couldn't talk to Satella again), make sure he had some other support before cutting off his lifelines…

_This is it. Clean break. Say goodbye to them now and maybe if you ever see them again (oh, I see, you still haven't given up hope of getting to Heaven someday, well, good luck with – no, he wouldn't, he knew he wouldn't, but maybe just maybe he could see them) if you see them again you can look them in the eyes and smile and talk and laugh again and maybe just maybe you could _look them in the eye._ You know this isn't them, this is nothing, you will go out tomorrow, you'll go out tomorrow and get on with your life, meet some _real _people, _real _people who think and do what they want and aren't always out for your best interest. I'm not saying I can't ever talk to people, just real people, have a real life…._

_Put it like this. Imagine seeing them again, both of them, and imagine them finding out that you've spent all this time wandering around with imaginary friends modelled after whatever aspects of them you recall. _Chrono shuddered and coughed to draw the attention of his imagined friends.

"I think you should go now," he whispered to himself.

"Do you want to get rid of us?" Magdalene asked, in her soft voice.

"No, no. But I don't think you would be happy if I saw what I was doing?"

"What're you talking about?" Rosette bellowed. "Are ya saying you don't need us around any more?"

Chrono could not believe his own imagination could have been so obstinate. He sighed, and tried to think of the best way to put this. "Well, yes. Or at least, I think it's time I tried to convince myself of that fact."

"That's good," Rosette said, her voice softening. "It's about time!"

"I'm glad. It's time for us to go."

"And stop it with all this hell stuff, will ya, Chrono? You're a good guy. And you've got us behind ya every step of the way."

"Have faith, Chrono!" Magdalene laughed. It was a chiming laugh, one which he had only heard a few times in reality and echoed in his dreams. Both of them leaned forwards, carefully rested their hands on Chrono's shoulders for a few moments, then spun around and seemed to dissolve.

He was alone.

For the first time in so many years, he was alone. Alone.

But he was okay with that. In a few days, he'd have a house.

He'd never really be able to leave the cemetery, but he would be alright.

Just for this night, he wrapped himself in blankets and slept underneath the tree.

He would be alright.

He was forced to somewhat re-evaluate the situation, however, when he was woken from his rest sometime in the late morning, by a small blonde girl poking him in the bare arm.

"You're all _wet_," she said. Then, with a slightly crooked smile, "My name's Rosie. Why are you sleeping outside?"

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_A/N: Thanks to everyone for all of their reviews!_

_Note for __Miyako1Lee3Rulez__: Just to clear some stuff up for you, Satella is still alive because she was frozen for all those years. I think she's only around her twenties now. Chrono is in what I like to refer to as his Wild-West form, the form he had in volume 6 of the manga and when he returned to Rosette at the end of the manga. Though he's not physically old, he is starting to feel very aged, which is why he feels as though his joints are old and aching. I hope this clears everything up for you (otherwise just leave a review with any comments/message me)_

_Sorry to everyone for such a delay between updates! You know how the real world is… _


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